MARY CLARK - Piece of My Heart

“Hi, Samantha. I hope you got my message earlier.” Laurie had left a detailed voicemail for Samantha about the Carvers’ arrests. Even though it was only indirectly related to her father’s murder, she didn’t want Samantha to learn about the development from the news.

“I did, but here’s the thing. I saw their pictures on the TV, and I know that guy.”

“Which guy?”

“The brother. I think his name was Toby Carver? I know him, Laurie. And so did Clarissa.”

Ten minutes later, Laurie hung up the phone and rushed to the living room to find her father.

Before she could get a word out, he told her that he had just spoken to his contact at the Philadelphia Police Department. “Sandra Carpenter was telling the truth. Her daughter Michelle did in fact die of an overdose at her home six months ago. Her neighbor was the one who found the body and called it in.”

“So what does that really tell us?” Laurie asked. “That might give Sandra all the more motive to try to take Johnny. She’s traumatized by the loss of her daughter, and she told Marcy that she thought of Johnny as the last living piece of her little girl . Maybe she wanted another shot at raising him herself.”

“There was one thing in the police report for Michelle’s overdose that was interesting,” Leo said. “When the police asked Michelle’s neighbor about the next of kin, she said they shouldn’t even bother calling Sandra because if anyone was to blame for Michelle’s drug addiction, it was her mother.”

“Sounds like there might be more to the story than Sandra’s letting on,” Laurie said.

Leo handed her a yellow Post-it with a name and number on it. Lindsay Hart. “That’s the neighbor. Depending on her own connection to drugs, she might be more comfortable talking to you than some crusty old cop.”

“Leo Farley? Crusty? I think all those widows who line up to see their favorite silver fox after Mass on Sunday would take issue with that description. But, yes, it makes sense for me to call Lindsay.”

“Who were you talking to earlier, by the way? From what I overheard, it sounded important.”

“Samantha Finney. She recognized Toby Carver’s picture on the news. Did you know that Samantha remained friends with Clarissa DeSanto after Finn’s murder?”

Leo nodded. “They were extremely close. At the time of the case, I remember thinking they seemed like a couple of girls who could be part of your friend group. I still can’t believe Clarissa died in a car accident.”

“Well, that’s the thing, Dad. The last time Samantha saw Clarissa was the end of March. They were at an eighties-night dance party organized as a fundraiser for one of the big animal shelters. Samantha’s married, but Clarissa tagged along solo. Some guy asked her to dance and they were having a nice enough time—casual and friendly. Toward the end of the night, though, the guy seemed to assume that Clarissa was going to leave with him. Leave , as in—” Laurie rotated her hand in lieu of words to complete the sentence.

“I may be your father, but I know what leave from a party means.”

“Samantha says the guy was really persistent, enough so that they thought about calling over Security. But Samantha’s husband exchanged words with him and made it clear that Clarissa wasn’t going to wander home with a random stranger. Well, Samantha saw Toby Carver’s picture tonight on the news, and she’s sure he’s the guy who tried getting Clarissa to leave with him. Her husband is certain it’s the same man, too. Three days after the eighties party, Clarissa somehow lost control of her car on the Cross County Parkway.”

Leo placed his head in his hands. “I said this entire time that Darren Gunther wouldn’t fight fair. That’s why I immediately thought of him when Johnny went missing.”

“But if Toby Carver was in the picture months ago?” Laurie asked. “Dad, what if he killed Clarissa DeSanto because of something she knew?”

That night, after hanging up with Alex, Laurie was docking her phone into its charger when it rang again. She recognized the Philadelphia area code she had used to call Michelle Carpenter’s former neighbor earlier that evening.

When she answered, the din of loud voices and music in the background made it difficult to hear.

“Ms. Moran, this is Lindsay Hart, returning your call. I’m sorry to call so late, and it’s really loud here, but I want to talk to you about Michelle. Can we meet in person tomorrow?”

“Sure, I can take a train in the morning—”

“No, I’m actually in New York right now.”

They agreed to meet at Laurie’s office at 9 A.M.

“See you then,” Lindsay said. “I don’t know how you got interested in Michelle’s case, but I never believed that her death was an overdose. She was murdered. I’m certain of it.”

Chapter 50

The following morning, Johnny had helped clear the breakfast dishes again and was back to work on his Historic Buildings of America coloring book.

“Keep on with your coloring,” the man said, inspecting his handiwork. “You show great promise as an artist, Danny.”

“What building is this one?” Johnny asked, even though he knew it was the Empire State Building. Uncle Alex had taken him to the top of it when he was in kindergarten. They had taken a picture for Johnny to share with the rest of his class.

Johnny pretended to be wowed as the man explained that the building was considered Art Greco, or something like that, designed by people Johnny had never heard of. Meanwhile, what Johnny really wanted to do was point out that he was only using his blue, green, tan, and gray colored pencils. This was the worst coloring book in the world.

“You sure do know a lot,” Johnny gushed. A play. I am an actor in a play.

The man appeared to space out for a few seconds before speaking. “I used to be an architect, in fact. That table you’re using?”

Johnny thanked him once again for it. “It sure is cool. I like this ledge at the bottom so nothing falls off and you can tilt the book on it.”

“Exactly,” the man said, apparently pleased by the observation. “That was my drafting table for years. I never made something as grand as the Empire State Building, mind you, but I created some spectacular homes—and a fairly large shopping mall and one office tower of some significance. If I’d kept working, I might have been the next I. M. Pei.”

Johnny smiled.

“That’s okay. Of course you don’t know who that is. He designed the glass pyramid at the entrance of the Louvre. Oh—and part of the National Gallery of Art.”

“That one I’ve been to!” Johnny announced gleefully. Mommy had taken him there last year while Daddy took the twins to the doctor when they both ran temperatures. He had complained about being bored. I’m sorry, Mama. I wasn’t being a good boy that day. I’ll never act like that again. Seeing that the man was pleased with his response, Johnny decided to ask a question. “So you don’t make buildings anymore?”

“No. A lot has changed in my life since then.” The man gazed into the distance again, and Johnny could tell he was sad.

Johnny flipped to the next page of his coloring book, even though he still needed to pencil in the blue sky over Manhattan. “Which building is this one?”

As the man talked about an architect named Frank Lloyd Wright, Johnny nodded along with interest. Trust is a two-way street, mister? Johnny’s plan was to earn enough trust to give him a chance to leave this creepy house.

“Can I ask you one more question, sir?”

“Certainly.”

“You call me Danny, but what should I call you? Other than sir, I mean.”